


Blessings

by Rina_san28



Series: Pride Month 2018 [19]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Disabled Character, Dwarves in the Shire, Fluff and Angst, Language, M/M, Moria, pride 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15007547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina_san28/pseuds/Rina_san28
Summary: Many blessings, both given and not.Or,Balin gives much, then asks more.Written for Pride Month 2018 Day 21: Language





	Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> This one sort of ran away with me, but I'm very pleased with how it turned out. It does still settle into my AU where Thorin lives, but loses the foot that Azog stabs, marries Bilbo, rules Erebor for a grand total of four months, then hands the crown to his sister and retires peacefully to the Shire. I really need to set up a series for those, at this point. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bilbo hummed a quiet tune to himself as he kneaded bread dough, listening with half an ear to the whatever tale Balin and Thorin were telling Frodo. The older dwarf had supposedly come just for a pleasant visit, but neither Thorin nor Bilbo truly believed that. Either way, Frodo was ecstatic that one of his distant “uncles” had come for a rare visit, and Balin, who was one of the few members of the Company to not have met the boy, was just as thrilled.

 

“That was _not_ how that happened, you old goat,” Thorin growled, and Bilbo paused in his work. “Don’t fill my nephew’s head with such nonsense.”

 

Balin snorted. “As if your other nephews aren’t nonsense incarnate,” he said.

 

“Aye, but those boys were doomed from the day they were born, if their _adad_ was any indication.”

 

“No, no!” Balin said. “Their antics were unmistakably similar to the stunts you and Frerin pulled in your younger days.”

 

“Frerin?” Frodo asked. “You knew him?”

 

“Of course I knew him, laddie!” Balin said, a smile in his voice. “He, Thorin, and my brother Dwalin were thick as thieves when they were children. The stories I could tell…”

 

“And you will not tell any of them, thank you very much,” Thorin said. Bilbo stifled a giggle as he pictured the put-out look on his husband’s face. “I have a reputation here.”

 

“Your boy deserves the full picture!” Balin argued playfully.

 

Bilbo decided this was as good a moment to step in. “Balin, my old friend, I’ll have you know that Frodo-lad is not as innocent as he looks, no matter what those eyes say,” he said, coming up to stand behind Thorin. “He’s got three fellows who hang about constantly, and two of those – his kin, no less – are known as the terror of the Shire!”

 

“Really, now!” Balin leaned forwards. “Isn’t that a surprise! Who are these companions of yours, then?”

 

As Frodo launched into the life stories of his friends, Bilbo leaned down to his husband. “What tale was he weaving this time?”

 

“He claimed that I moped the entire time we were imprisoned in the Elvenking’s dungeons for missing you,” Thorin said.

 

“Are you saying you didn’t at all?” Bilbo asked.

 

“No, just that it was not at all the entire time. I stopped once you made your presence known to me.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “At the very end.” He placed a kiss to Thorin’s hair, now gone completely silver. “I was, and am, quite flattered, my love.”

 

“I would have us never parted again, if I could,” Thorin said, not for the first time.

 

“We never have to now,” Bilbo said. “You’re mine, and there’s no escaping that.”

 

“I gave up a mountain for you,” Thorin murmured, twisting to look up at him, “and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

 

“Yes, O mighty mountain king,” Bilbo said teasingly. “Unfortunately, you have run out of mountains, and I keep my garden quite clean of molehills, thank you very much.”

 

Thorin laughed, the sound just as beautiful to Bilbo as the first time he’d heard its ring. “Feisty hobbit, you are.”

 

“That’s why we all like him so much,” Balin said, drawing their attention back to him, “as well as this nephew of his. Bright boy!”

 

“He is indeed,” Thorin said, but he gave Balin a measuring look.

 

“Tell me, Frodo,” the old dwarf said casually, “how are you with languages?”

 

“I’m fair, Uncle,” Frodo said, wrinkling his brow in confusion at the sudden shift in topic. “I’m near fluent in Sindarin, and conversational in Quenya.”

 

“And your Uncle Bilbo? How’s he?”

 

“Uncle Bilbo’s brilliant! He’s fluent in everything, and he can translate without even needing to think!” Frodo gushed. Then he paused. “Why?”

 

“I think it’s about time the two of you start learning Khuzdûl,” Balin said.

 

Silence.

 

“What?” Thorin finally asked, a note of…something in his voice.

 

“You and Bilbo have been married for decades,” Balin said simply, “and if Frodo is to be your joint heir, then he should understand as well. I’ve been here for less than two days, lad, and anyone can see that you love the boy like a son!”

 

“Of course I do,” Thorin said, “all around know that. But why bring this up now?”

 

“Why not now?” Balin smiled and clapped Frodo on the shoulder. “He’ll do brilliantly. Now, Frodo,” he said, “would I be able to meet these friends of yours?”

 

“Oh, um, yes!” Frodo said, clearly suffering from conversational whiplash. “I’ll just – I’ll just write them and ask.” With that, the boy scurried out of the room, but not without shooting a questioning glance at Bilbo, which received only a small shrug in response.

 

The moment he was gone, Balin turned completely serious. “I have something to discuss with you. Business, personal – it doesn’t matter.”

 

“We are not your king and consort, Balin,” Thorin said, “and have not been for a long time.”

 

“You always will be to me,” he said. His face hardened. “This is important, Thorin.”

 

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a _look_ , then the hobbit nodded. “Hold on a moment,” he said, “I’ll get tea.”

 

As he clattered around in the kitchen, the sitting room was silent. Never had a kettle taken longer to boil, it seemed, and he almost sprinted back in when it was done. Setting it on the small coffee table, he sat in his customary place on Thorin’s left, Balin directly across from the two. It was an eerie echo of the short time Thorin had ruled in Erebor. Balin accepted his cup with a nod, and remained quite for the first few sips before heaving a sigh.

 

“I ask your blessing,” Balin said, “for all your sister has given me is warning and memory.”

 

“I bow to Dís’s judgement on most things, these days,” Thorin said, caution in his voice. “Balin, what are you planning?”

 

“Erebor prospers,” Balin said instead. “The people are joyful, goods are plentiful, and we grow stronger every day. I believe it is time to take back more of what was once lost to us.”

 

“Balin,” Thorin started warningly, but Balin continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

 

“Long have we been denied our ancestral home of Khazad-dûm!” he expounded. “Our people ache for their homeland to be restored! The orcs who once occupied it were devastated in the Battle of Five Armies and have never recovered without their leaders. We have the might we need, I know it! I plan to take a small company, perhaps sixty dwarrows, and we will drive the remnants out.”

 

“Are you a fool?” Thorin bellowed. “For this is a fool’s errand! How can you speak to my son of Frerin when you play with this fallacy, this doomed venture into the very place he died failing to take?”

 

“You know the prophecy, Balin,” Bilbo said. “It is well-known that it is Durin VII that will take back Moria. This is not a task you can complete.”

 

“The prophecy states that Durin VII will become the King of Durin’s Folk in Moria. There are many ways such a prophecy may be interpreted,” Balin argued. “We must strike now!”

 

Thorin made to rise from his chair, but Bilbo stopped him. “Thorin, no,” he said, examining Balin with a shrewd eye. “No. His mind was made up long before he came to us.”

 

Balin nodded. “Indeed. The company is already established. Supplies are gathered, documents are filled out. The Queen already has a new advisor. Once I leave here, I will join with the rest and begin the journey.”

 

Thorin puffed up once more, then deflated. “Do any more from our Company journey with you?” he asked.

 

“Óin,” Balin said, “and young Ori. Not so young anymore, however!” he added. “He’s grown into a fine dwarf, and an excellent scribe besides. He was among the first to join me.”

 

“I see,” Thorin said, and he and Bilbo shared another look. “There is no stopping you.”

 

“No.”

 

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and squeezed it. “You do not seek permission from us.”

 

“No,” Balin said. “A blessing, if you have it, but nothing more.”

 

“I will not give a blessing to this,” Thorin said, his voice harsh. “You are a _fool_ , Balin son of Fundin.”

 

“I understand,” Balin said sadly.

 

“I do,” Thorin said, holding up a hand, “send luck, strength, and prayers that you may find it safely through when all else fails you.”

 

“Thank you,” Balin whispered. He bowed his head. “I am sorry.”

 

“We will part in friendship,” Thorin said, “but know that should you return in failure, I reserve the right to tell you that I told you so.”

 

Bilbo snorted. “You’ve been around the Gaffer too much.”

 

“Aye, perhaps.”

 

“Uncle?” Frodo said, coming out from wherever he’d been standing and placing a tentative hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Could Sam come to dinner tonight? His sisters-”

 

“Say no more, lad,” Thorin said in amusement. “I know how sisters get. He can stay the night.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course,” Bilbo confirmed. “Go on, scoot!” Frodo disappeared in a flash.

 

“This conversation is not over,” Thorin warned Balin, standing slowly as his injuries protested.

 

“I know,” Balin said. After a moment, he clasped Thorin’s forearm. “Thorin, I will not fail.”

 

“I trust you,” Thorin said, “But I know more than any how such statements cannot be trusted. You will not find the glory which you seek in that cursed tomb.”

 

Somehow, Bilbo thought with a small amount of dread, those words rung like prophecy.

**Author's Note:**

> Balin actually did travel to the Shire to see Bilbo once before his journey to Moria, from which he never returned. 
> 
> I'm rina-san28 on Tumblr!


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